


Breakfast For Two

by MidwesternMaenad



Series: Two Halves Of A Whole Idiot [3]
Category: Beetlejuice (Cartoon 1989), Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:13:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24636625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidwesternMaenad/pseuds/MidwesternMaenad
Summary: It's been a long time since Six has had living, talking company. Which she still doesn't have. So she hasn't had the need to cook for anyone other than herself in quite a while. However, with the excitement of a new roommate, she decides she needs to dust off her baking skills, and does her best to try make a great first impression with a great breakfast.Maybe if she makes a good first impression with this ghost, he won't turn out nearly as bad as the others!...Well, that's the hope anyway. Getting her hopes up usually doesn't get her very far.
Relationships: Beetlejuice/Originial Female Character(s)
Series: Two Halves Of A Whole Idiot [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1704217
Kudos: 1





	Breakfast For Two

Six was the one to wake up first the next morning. This wasn't unusual, seeing as she was usually the only one home. But things were different now. Now, she had a _roommate._ And as she looked over to her funky little mirror to see him, she could confirm she _did_ in fact wake up first, seeing as he was still sleeping away in his coffin.

That _was_ unusual. Tabaxi slept more than most other sapient species, so for her to _out-sleep_ someone else was _impressive._ Not to mention _comforting,_ seeing as that told her they were likely _both_ night owls. _Nice._ That meant he'd be easier to _work around_ than others, _and_ they could enjoy more of the day together!

But before they could do _anything,_ she had to make _breakfast._ And she had _just_ the recipe in mind for it, too. She was careful not to make a sound as she got out of bed and got dressed. By the time she'd woken up that morning, the snow had lightened up some, now alternating between wet snowfall and freezing rain. It _wasn't_ good weather to stay outside in for very long, so she'd need to bring one of her _heavier_ coats out when she went out to check on Tramples Mice Underfoot. Luckily, she had a heavy robe she'd "borrowed" from a visiting _pyromancy student_ that she could wear, so she grabbed that and some breathable long johns.

And an _apron._ But the apron was for _later._ Not _now._ So once she got her clothes on, she tucked the apron over her elbow, then left the room as quietly as she could, with minimal creaking from the floorboards or the door.

She did _not_ have the same success with the stairs. For when she started walking down the stairs, she must've gone too quickly. For as she was taking another step down, her foot caught the fur-trimmed hem of her robes and sent her _tumbling down the stairs._

But it wasn't the _first_ time she'd tripped herself on the stairs. Big paws, long fur, and heavy robes were never a good combination for stairs like them. So as she rolled down the stairs, she caught the next step with her front paws and proceeded to turn her _somersaults_ into _handsprings,_ all the way down. Once she got to the bottom of the stairs, her last handspring landed her _right_ back on her feet.

_Ha!_ Talk about _clever!_ She sure wished her _roommate_ could've seen that!

... No, wait, she _couldn't_ wish for that, because he was supposed to be _sleeping_ until she woke him for breakfast. And that entire interaction with the stairs was _so_ noisy, it _probably_ woke him up. _Dang it!_

She could deal with that _later._ The _first_ thing she had to do that morning was check on _Tramples._ She also decided that freezing rain wouldn't do him any good, even if he _was_ safe in his stable, so she'd bring out an _extra quilt_ with his morning grain, just for him. He already _had_ one out there, but she figured another one wouldn't hurt. And with that, she hurried on outside.

It was _so_ beautiful outside, with the snow blanketing her front lawn in such _thick, comfortable_ layers. If only it wasn't still snowing and raining outside, she would've _loved_ to just take some time to _romp_ through the snow, _kicking it up_ wherever she went. Freezing rain was the _worst,_ but it didn't help that the cold wind _still_ found _holes_ in her robe to sneak through. It felt as if it passed right on through her _sleeves_ , her _fur_ \- even _her._ If it wasn't for the _weight_ of the _pouring rain_ hitting her, she felt she could've very well been carried away _with_ it. 

Instead, she held her robes as closely to her as she could and pressed on. Her donkey's stable wasn't the _best_ for this kind of weather. It wasn't very well made _at all_ , so whoever the _previous_ homeowners hired to help out with _home renovations_ clearly wasn't the same person they hired to build the _stable._ However, she'd managed to fix up the _hole_ in the wall that had bothered him the previous year, so even if it wasn't the _best_ , it at least must have been _better_ for the old ass. At least, she _hoped_ it was. Considering she was walking through a few _inches_ worth of snow, she didn't want to make too many _periodic trips_ to check on him.

Once she got to the stable doors, she swept them open with ease. The snow on the ground might have been thick, but it wasn't _heavy_. Inside was her friend, _Tramples Mice Underfoot,_ relaxing beneath his favourite quilt, which had patterns of _wild boars, leaves,_ and _beer steins_ on it in squares. 

He didn't lift his head when she spotted him. But she saw his ears turn her way and perk up, so she knew he was paying attention. He just wanted to _relax_ under the _nice warm blanket._ Who _wouldn't?_

She smiled and greeted him just as she always did. Just with an added _shudder_ to her voice, considering how _damp_ her fur was. _"Hey, buddy... how're we doin' today?"_

As she walked over to his side, he cracked one eye open to watch her. To _most,_ it was a _tired, grumpy_ kind of look. It was to _her,_ too. But she also knew he was _happy enough_ to see her, since he opened both eyes not long after, then proceeded to bump his _head_ into her _knees._ This _thankfully_ didn't knock her over, so she just took it as an opportunity to pet his ears.

_"Aw, it's nice t' see you too, old man."_ She told him with a rub of the ear. Thankfully, she had something for those, too. So she knelt down, careful not to bump him on her way down. _"Hey, y'know what?"_

He glanced up to her curiously.

_"I bet yer ears're cold!"_ His expression didn't seem to change at all with that, nor did his ears move. But still, she reached into her robes, _"Here, let me..."_

To pull out a pair of _big wool socks._ Which she then slipped over both of his ears. He was normally too _purr-snickity_ about being given extra articles, so he would sway his head _this way_ and _that_ to avoid them. But not here. Here, she figured he was _too tired_ to _complain_ or _struggle._ Or his ears were _too cold._ _That_ could've been it, too.

She then sat back to admire her work, if only for a moment. It was honestly _pretty goofy looking,_ made even _goofier_ by his _stone-cold expression._ She wished she could laugh at it this morning, but she was just _too darn cold._ So, instead, she waved off his quietness with an _"Ehhh, I know you love it!"_

_"An' I know you'll love **this,** too!"_

This was where she pulled out the extra quilt she'd brought him, which had squares of _plain white, fleur-de-lis bats, candy toting rats,_ and _unfamiliar fruit_. This also didn't seem to change much in his face, but in body language he spoke volumes, reaching for it with a hefty snort. She had to pull it away from him, of course, but she'd love a second quilt, too. _"I **know!** " _Six said, in a playful, overly dramatic fashion. _"A **second** blanket! It's a **miracle!** "_

As he reached for it with his head, she reached over to set it over the first quilt on his back... then pulled it back. This earned a huff from Tramples.

_"Ah-ah-ah..."_ She shook one finger at him. _"I want a **smile** first, old timer."_

Instead of doing so, Tramples chose to avoid eye contact. She could see the little puff he let out in the cloud of steam that left his snout. 

_"Awww, c'mon! You **know** I'm just gonna **give** it to ya **anyway!** "_

No change.

_"It's just **one!** Please?"_

She tried her best smile, but _still_ \- **_nothing._** He would rather look at the _wooden beams_ than her. She understood that. He was never _that_ easily convinced.

After a few long seconds of holding that smile, it fell. Along with her ears. Alright, time for a _different_ approach.

Slowly, she scooted closer toward him. She didn't really care that the robes got dirty, but she did _not_ want to stay out in the cold for too long. _"C'mon, buddy,"_ she then pleaded, _"I'm **cold,** I'm **wet,** an' I'm **sore**... won'tcha give me just **one?** "_

He glanced to her out of the corner of his eye, but once he did, she dropped the _"begging kitten"_ look on him. It was one of her more _common_ methods of convincing others that involved _very wide, sad eyes_ and _droopy ears_. It worked more when she was _younger_ \- mostly in part due to her aging like _milk_ \- however, she tried this trick hoping that her _dampened fur_ would add to the image. That perhaps he'd feel bad enough that morning to give her one.

And he _did._ She watched as he went from looking _at_ her to looking _away,_ quickly, as if afraid she'd _notice._ How many times he glanced back, his ears _almost_ lifting before he seemed to _catch_ himself and tuck them back down. He was _such_ a _sucker_ for the sad faces. And she _knew_ that. She just had to be a _little more_ patient, before he _finally_ did his trick, which involved him turning his head only _partially_ toward her, lifting his ears up properly, and then tilting his head a _little_ to the _side_ and letting one of his ears go _crooked._ It wasn't a trick that actually involved his _mouth_ in any way, but his _eyes_ were _always_ smiling when he did it. It was just a _cute_ little thing she taught him to do. _Usually_ for _treats._

Today, it was for that second quilt. Which, like she said, she _was_ going to give him anyway. She just wanted a dose of _cuteness_ in the morning before she went back inside, was all. And Tramples _was_ an _adorable_ old ass.

When she draped the second quilt over him, however, he bumped his head _full force_ into hers. It was an _affectionate_ gesture, but considering her _incident_ earlier, it just _hurt._

_"Ow, haha, **easy!** "_ She pushed his head away, but he seemed satisfied enough with the headbutt, so he didn't fight it. He just settled himself into the two quilts he now had, looking pleased as punch.

As Six rubbed her head, she playfully grumbled, _"Gee, I wonder who y'got **THAT** from..."_

But with her delivery made, she got up from her position on the floor, fetched him his morning grain, closed up the stable, then retreated to the house. Even though it wasn't much of a walk back, the fur on her _head_ and _paws_ was still dampened _too much_ for her liking, so she grabbed an old hand towel to dry herself off. Then, she was off to the kitchen, her tail happily swishing about as she went. She had _breakfast_ to make!

Seeing as they were going to be confined to the _house_ until it _warmed up_ enough to leave, _today's_ breakfast was going to be **_Cheshire Pork Pie!_** It was not only one of her easiest recipes to make, but one of the most heartwarming! Sitting down with _loved ones_ in the middle of a _storm,_ eating _freshly baked pie_ while the snowflakes _danced_ with raindrops among the _tree branches_ outside...

It was the _best_ thing, growing up. But ever since she had to leave her old _adventuring group_ behind, she'd never had _anyone_ to bake _with,_ or _for._ It was always _herself._ And while cooking for herself was all _fine_ and _dandy_ \- nobody to _disappoint_ but _herself,_ should she _burn_ something - it didn't feel the _same._ She didn't know how some cats could go their _whole lives_ alone, cooking only for _themselves_ , sharing with _no one else_ , and still be _happy._ Every year _she_ spent without company was just _miserable._ She was _all too happy_ to find out that mirror was _haunted._

Cheshire Pork Pie wasn't going to be difficult to make. Flour, pork, apples, salt, pepper, and some white wine were all she really needed. If she screwed _that_ up, she may as well _hang up her apron,_ which she put on before getting things ready.

The _first_ order of business was getting the _oven_ heated up. It was a _wonderful_ thing, made from _cobblestone_ and _brick_ which she cut and crafted herself, with dens for both the firewood and the food. Thankfully she stocked up on the firewood _before_ the snow moved in, and as for the _coal_ \-- she got that _yesterday!_

 _That_ was what was in the _lumpy sack_ she'd brought home, which she grabbed from one of two kitchen entryways. The firewood was loaded below, as well as some of the coals, before she put the rest away. Then came the task of _lighting_ it. She was _never_ good at this. Lighting candles was one thing which she just got _used to_ over the years, but the _oven_ was a _whole other matter._ She has to use flint and steel to get a fire started, which she not only was _piss-poor_ at using in the first place, but just wasn't _patient enough_ for. The first few strikes she made, she just _couldn't_ get a spark. Not even one. She struck it harder and _harder_ , faster and _faster,_ but nothing. No dice. The more she _tried,_ the more _irritated_ she became. _Harder_ she struck it. **_Faster._** Until, _finally,_ she just outright **_BANGED_** the two together - 

And _that_ somehow _did_ it. A spark _conveniently_ big enough to light. _Huh._ She _wanted_ to question it. But it just _wasn't_ worth the _effort._

It was on to the _next_ step, now. Making the _pie crust._ This was always the _messiest_ step due to her _long fur,_ but it was _just_ as easy to _clean up_ afterward. And she always _loved_ the _messy_ steps in cooking. Whether it was a mess from _inexperience_ or a _food fight_ , messy cooking always showed how much _fun_ the chef had! That, and she always _loved_ getting her _paws dirty!_

So she grabbed the empty bowl nearby, the sack of flour, the scooping cup, the butter, and the salt, and she readied her work station. She remembered her mother always using _two_ cups of flour, so she scooped _that_ in first. Then she dropped in a three-claw _pinch_ of salt, which she mixed in by paw. This was just the _beginning_ of the mess, when the _powdery flour_ clung to her fur as she worked. She was careful to dust some of this back off into the bowl, instead of _blowing_ on it like she did last time. Of course, this is also where her _fur_ started getting into the flour, which fell with a _gentle grace_ into the bowl as she mixed.

There was _no_ avoiding _fur_ in a recipe. _All_ Tabaxi cooking had _some_ form of fur in it. This, however, _never_ subtracted from a _good meal,_ despite what _other_ races thought. If the meal was well-made, then the fur wasn't even _noticeable._ And Six's mother always told her, _"Every lock of Tabaxi fur found in a meal made by Tabaxi is a wish granted!"_ This was a common belief in almost all Tabaxi tribes, as she heard it from _parents, elders,_ and _chefs_ wherever she went. However, she was _also_ told that everyone was _always_ making wishes, _big_ or _small_ \- _good_ or **_bad._ **So there was no knowing _what_ wishes were being granted. This is why it was considered in _poor taste_ to outright _throw_ fur into the recipe, like _some_ outside races did. _They_ didn't _know_ if they were granting _good_ wishes or _bad_ wishes. And to grant someone _too **many**_ wishes would make them _selfish_ and _arrogant._ It would spoil both their _moods_ and their _minds._ This was why Tabaxi believed most folk reacted in _disgust_ to the fur, even if they _minimized_ what fell in. Because those folks must have already had _too many **bad** wishes_ granted.

Still, she mixed these together. Then when the salt was well-integrated, she scooped in the butter. This was to be mixed _without_ melting the butter, so her paws had to be _persistent,_ yet _precise_ in their kneading. After all, her paws were built with the _size_ and _grace_ of _**snowboots,**_ so it _wouldn't be difficult_ to mess up. 

But she managed. Even though it _caked_ her _claws_ and _fingertips_ in flour, she _managed._ It only got _messier_ when she had to portion in the _water_ while she mixed. Still, she mixed well until her paws looked like a _potter's._ Until the lumps were kneaded down into a _smooth, sticky sheet_ of dough. Which she pulled all together into a rough ball to roll out into crust.

Once the first pie crust was all rolled out, she set it aside, then followed the same procedure with one _more_ batch. Only when _both_ were done did she move on. Because the _next_ step was getting the _pork_ boiled.

So she brought out the salted pork she'd bought from the butcher, then a carving knife from the cabinet. Then she set to cutting the salted pork into _thin, uneven_ ribbons. This was not only to make _cooking_ it easier, but _layering_ it into the _pie_ as well. It _already_ came salted, so really, all _she_ had to do was get it _cut_ and _cooked._ And cutting was _no issue at **all,**_ as most well-raised Tabaxi were _excellent butchers_ to begin with.

Perhaps it was that _skill_ in _carving_ the meat, or perhaps it really _was_ some _hidden talent_ she _forgot_ about, because the pork boiled _beautifully._ The _slow **sizzle**_ of it as it cooked in the pan was _music to the ears._ And if the _sound_ didn't wake her up, the _smell_ certainly _did._ In a _tavern_ or at _home,_ the smell of cooking meat was _always_ something to smile at. Yet, she seemed to hit some _unseen peak_ here, because she'd _never_ smelled pork _**this** good. _

See, Tabaxi have _stronger_ senses in _hearing_ and smell than others. The _squeak_ of a field mouse to an _elf_ is a _cough_ to _Tabaxi._ The snap of a _branch_ under the foot of an _assassin_ is a _broken bone_ said assassin _doesn't hear coming._ How _intimidating_ it is to catch the sound of an _approaching storm_ before their neighbors. How _advantageous_ to hear _which side_ of the _forest_ a band of _brigands_ is trying to _sneak_ through. And oh, _how_ **_wonderful_** that _pork_ was, sizzling in the pan with _such **smooth satisfaction.**_ The sound of it made the _spine_ tingle. The smell of it put her _head_ in the _clouds._ Even as she flipped the pork over, she had to resist the urge to use that fork to put a piece _right_ into her mouth. Common sense wasn't audible against the hiss of salted pork in a pan.

Somehow she resisted. Managed to finish cooking _both_ batches of pork _without_ scorching her mouth by stealing a piece. Once the pork was all done cooking, she scooped it into two _separate, smaller bowls_ for later. Next came the _pippins._ The _apples._ As they were rather _small_ and _crisp,_ she didn't have _any_ difficulty cutting them into the appropriate slices. Three small pippins worth were cut, which were tucked into another bowl.

This marked the _end_ of _preparations_ for the recipe. Now that all the ingredients were ready, it was time to _assemble_ and _bake_ the pie. She pulled up a fired and glazed pie plate she'd made herself back in _Mirabar_ for this one. It was _hardly_ her _best_ work, with how _uneven_ it was, but it would do. She laid out the bottom layer of pie crust into the plate, then cut it to fit and _pinched_ the edges. Next came the bottom layer of _pork,_ which she pulled from one of the two bowls and evenly laid out. After that came a layer of the sliced _apples._ This repeated until she had used all the pork and all the pips in _three layers._ On top was laid the _second_ and _final_ crust, which was cut and crimped to fit.

After cutting some _slits_ in the top for the _heat,_ she stepped back to take it in. The pie was _assembled_ and _ready to bake._ _A very good-looking pie,_ she thought! _Definitely_ one of her _better_ ones! First meals were _always_ important to her, and if her _roommates_ didn't have a _good first meal_ under her roof, it _always_ spelled _disaster!_ **_Without fail!_** But she was _sure_ Beetlejuice would _love_ this one! 

All that was left now was to stick it in the oven. So she took her little iron grid from aside the oven and set it inside. This was to ensure the _bottom_ of the pie didn't _burn._ Even though the pie plate was _already_ uneven, the _less_ she _burnt_ this beautiful pie, the _better._ Once that was in place, she slipped the pie plate a kiss on the rim before setting it into the oven. Just for _good luck._

That was it. Now, she only needed to _wait._ For her, this was probably the _most difficult_ part, as she was _never_ a very _patient_ kitten growing up, which was something her mother _always_ tried to teach her _out_ of. But _really_ , she only could learn patience with _experience_. That _experience_ being that, no matter _how good_ it started _smelling,_ she _had_ to _wait_ until her food was _completely_ cooked before taking it out of the oven. _Nobody_ liked half-baked goods. And _nobody_ liked _getting_ _sick_ from _partially-cooked **turkey.**_

So that's just what she did. The kitchen was warm enough for her to wait in, what with the _oven_ going and all. So she decided to _brew_ herself a pot of tea, _pour_ herself a cup, and watch the _snow_ fall through the kitchen windows. It was relaxing to watch from the inside, with a hot and ready cup of blackberry tea.

She wondered if _Beetlejuice_ would learn to like that view. It would've been nicer if she could have _invited_ him to watch it _with_ her. But that just _couldn't_ happen yet. No, as much as she _wanted_ to let him out - show him the house, get him all _settled_ in to whatever _room_ he wanted for his _own_ \- she had to stick to her guns. She had to wait to see if she could _trust_ him or not. If she got _too eager_ , let him out _too soon_...

Six took another sip of her tea. She didn't _want_ to think about _what-ifs._ She wanted to _trust_ this one. She _really_ , _truly_ did. If she only thought about the ghosts she'd trusted _before_ , only to be _used_ by them to their _own_ ends, then the way wouldn't be open for a _nice_ ghost to move in. She'd grow _bitter_ and _cold_ , just like the snow outside. And she didn't _want_ that. Not at all. So she tried to focus on the _snowfall_ in order to _distract_ herself from this.

This _failed._ **_MISERABLY._**

The _entire_ _time_ the pie spent cooking, all she could think about was the _past_. How _quiet_ this all was. How _lonely_. To go from a _close-knit_ _community_ of _farmers_ and _hunters_ , which regularly shared _stories_ and _supplies_ with their _neighbors_ , to living in an _abandoned house_ in the _middle of the **woods** ,_ which was a _half-day's travel_ to the nearest town, populated by _disconnected_ _citizenry_ and _jackasses_.

Six missed her _mother_. Her _family_. Her _friends_ and _neighbors_ all back at... at _home_. She missed walking into town, and not only being _recognized_ , but _welcomed_. That was _so_ long ago. Back then, she could openly _visit_ a new neighbor's house, _talk_ to them, get to _know_ them, get _attached_. But out here in _Mirabar_ , she had to put on a _whole other face_ to get to know people, then use _that_ information _outside_ of her alias to get what she wanted. And vice versa.

That's all she _did_ now. All she _could_ do. Move from town to town, place to place, finding some way to _comb_ her _fur_ just right, put on a brand _new accent_ , or some _new mask_ she'd make just for the occasion, and _worm_ her way into a family. Then, when she had secured herself a chunk of the _inheritance_ or a sum of gold _high_ enough, she _skipped_ _town_. Usually by _sneaking_ _away_ in the night, or _faking_ her _death_ and moving on, unless the con went _sour_ and she had to _kill_ someone, or set _fire_ to something to make an _escape_.

She _wanted_ to feel bad. Not _every_ family she infiltrated _seemed_ so bad. But her preferred targets were the _higher-class._ _Noblemen_ and _noblewomen_ who thought themselves as _higher_ and _mightier_ than the _blacksmiths_ that made their _armor_ , or the _archaeologists_ who dug up their next _conversation_ _piece_ , or the _farmers_ who harvested their _grain_. Even if they were kind to _her_ , they still took from the _less fortunate_ , and _smiled_ all the while. So, she couldn't feel _that_ bad for them, even if she was _tempted_ to. They were all part of the same _system_. _Snobby dukes' daughters, self-absorbed knights,_ it didn't matter. Nobles of _any_ and _all_ sort were _game_ , and _she_ was the _fox_ coming for their _hen houses._

Finally, the smell of a fully baked Cheshire Pork Pie was enough to stir her from getting _too_ _far_ into her own thoughts. Which was for the _best_. If she started _dissociating_ then and there, then the pie would catch _fire_ , and that would be a whole _other_ problem. She wasn't _good_ with fire.

So, she set aside her empty cup to go _douse_ the oven fire. The oven door was then opened, and with a large spatula, the pie plate was carefully pulled from the oven and onto the nearby counter. It _looked_ as good as it _smelled_ , which was better than how _most_ of her pies turned out. Most of the crust was a _delightful_ dark brown, with only _two_ burnt spots toward the back, where more of the oven's _heat_ accumulated.

Still, it looked _delicious_. Six couldn't _wait_ to take it upstairs. But that would _take_ a couple trips. She needed to get more of the _dishware_ up there first, so she got a large platter, two plates, two mugs, and her pot of tea, and she brought _those_ upstairs _first_. This time, she _watched_ where her feet went going up the stairs, so that way she didn't trip and re-enact her little _stunt_ from earlier. 

It was a _quiet_ , but _happy_ walk. One that hoped that, even though she'd made _such_ a _fool_ of herself earlier, that her _mostly_ _ghostly_ _friend_ was still _asleep_ for the surprise. But it was for _naught_ , as she slipped open her bedroom door to find Beetlejuice _awake_ in his mirror, floating with his _head_ in his _hands_ and his _nose_ in the _air_. Ah, yeah. She knew _that_ look. _That_ was the look of someone getting a whiff of something _good_.

His eyes popped open with the door, and he swam up to the mirror's face. _"Mornin', pussycat!"_ Beetlejuice said with a smile. _"What'cha makin'?"_

_"Cheshire Pork Pie!"_ She told him. He watched as she walked over to the dresser to set the platter down. His expression went from _pleasant_ to _pleasantly_ **_confused_ **as she started setting up the mugs and plates. _"It's a family **staple**! I think you'll really **like** it, bugs!"_

_Bugs_ was a new nickname which slipped. But that one felt a bit more _personal_ , and she wasn't ready for that one yet, so she _corrected_ herself. _"Uh, **spooks** , sorry - "_

"So, you made cat pie?"

_This_ got her to drop one of the two empty mugs onto the dresser. Her paws _slipped_ , she couldn't help it.

_"Wha - **no**!"_ Six quickly tried to say - _Lord,_ where did he even **_GET_ **that idea? _"It's pork an' apples, ya **goof**! What makes you think I'd bake a **cat** **pie**?!"_

_"I mean, you said it was **Cheshire** Pork Pie -- "_ He tried to clarify. _Oh, **that** explained it._

She carefully set back upright the mug she dropped before she continued. Had to _compose_ herself a little. He probably wasn't up long, so it made _sense_ for him to not be _all there_ yet. Or _her_. Good _grief_. _"No, it's named ' **Cheshire'** 'cause **'Cheshire'** was a **place**. Not an **animal**."_

Beetlejuice rubbed his neck rather sheepishly. She didn't say it out loud, but the face he made there was pretty cute. _Tired_ or _distracted_ _confusion_ just looked _good_ on the guy. _"Yeahhhh, I guess **that** would make more **sense** , wouldn't it?"_ He then said, sounding plenty embarrassed with himself.

_"Still, it smells de- **LICIOUS!** "_ She could see out of the corner of her eye, floating higher in his prison as he spoke. She even caught a glimpse of his pinstriped _slacks_ and _boots_ as they passed her by. _"I've been gettin' by on **roaches** an' **flies** fer so long, it feels like **FOREVER** since I've had a freshly cooked meal!"_

She felt him watching as she continued setting the space up. A mug in front of the mirror, a mug in front of her chair, a plate in front of his mirror, a plate in front of her chair...

She couldn't even _imagine_ it. She'd _never_ spent long enough in a jailhouse to forget what _home-cooked food_ **_smelled_ **like, let alone **_tasted_ **like. It sounded like such a _horrible_ fate. The smell of freshly baked _bread_ , or piping hot _turkey_ , with _gravy_ and _stuffed_ _potatoes_ \- those were _good_ _memories_ for her. If she had to go _without_ them, she... well, she didn't _want_ to think about _that_. Didn't even want to _try_. It sounded too _miserable_. Especially if she had to watch _someone_ _else_ eat through... a...

_Mirror_.

The pot of tea was set down. This realization brought about a _long_ and _fairly_ _awkward_ silence, which was _understandable_ given what she was thinking. Ah, that's _lovely_ , that is. She got _so_ caught up in the _euphoria_ of _finally_ _cooking_ for _company_ , and yet got _so caught up_ in the _feeling_ , she _completely_ _forgot_ there was a _barrier_ likely _**preventing** him from **enjoying** **the** **meal**._ Six, you _stupid, **mangy** -_

As he noticed his feline going quiet, Beetlejuice fell _slowly_ back down to her eye level. _"Uh... Six? You doin' **alright** , there, pussycat?"_

She let her face sink into her paws. Muffled by her heavy paw pads and thick fur, she replied to him. Couldn't even manage the tone to lie. _"Oh, **yeah** , Beetlejuice, I'm **fine**... "_ said Six. _" **Really**! Just, y'know, **makin** ' **food** fer **two** that only **one** can eat, it's **fine**! I'm **fine**! Really! I'm just **peachy**. "_

 _"Oh, I can still eat, kitty! It's fine!"_ He tried to tell her. _"Just 'cause I'm no longer among th' **livin'** doesn't mean I can't **eat** food like **you** do! I can **TOTALLY** still dig my fingers into yer **pie**!"_

_"... Yer, uh... Yer **PORK** pie, I mean."_

She heard the smack of his hand against his face, but it didn't do much for her. _"I wasn't sayin' you **couldn't,** spooks,"_ she went on, _"I meant... y'know."_

_"Through th' **mirror**. **That**."_ She waved her paw toward it as she mentioned it. A beat of silence followed this, which she didn't immediately _notice_ at first. _"Y'think after havin' enough **trapped** **ghosts** fer **guests** I'd **remember** that. But **noooo** , I got **so** caught up in all my **excitement** that - "_

 _" **Woah** woah **woah** , **hold** yer horses."_ Her ethereal tenant interrupted her. _"I **can** still eat through th' mirror! It's okay! Really!"_

The slow, skeptical look she gave him as she lifted her head from her paws told him she didn't believe him. She watched as he floated up to the mirror's face. Set his hands against it. _"Cause, see, here's th' thing..."_

_"It's not really glass."_

That got a quirk of the eyebrow whiskers. _That_ was a new one. _"... It's... not glass."_ She repeated, just to confirm. Once he nodded, she looked over the rest of the mirror. _"Then, if it ain't glass, what **is** it?"_

She was expecting to see something strange or unusual about it when he brought it up. Maybe if she looked closer, she could see some _forgotten_ _language_ or _runes_ etched into the mirror's borders, or a _ripple,_ like _water_. Maybe the ambient light occluding through her window would _reflect_ incorrectly. But it didn't. The more she _looked_ at it, the more it _looked_ like _plain_ _old_ _glass_.

Even as he pulled his hands away, then closer to him, then fanned them out with a mystical little wiggle. _"It's **magic** ~"_ He told her, with a tone of mystery clearly meant to intrigue her.

Which it did. She set her hand against one of the carved worms along the mirror frame to try and get a closer look. As she did so, Beetlejuice continued.

_"An' **powerful** magic, too! A magic **so** **potent** an' **tricky** that **not** **one** **soul** among th' **livin'** can **see** it! It's only ever visible to th' **dead**!"_ A pause followed. Then he set one hand on his chin. _"Or, hm, well, **maybe** it's visible to **UN** -dead, too, but my mirror's never been picked **up** by any **undead** before, so I can't really say fer **sure**..."_

Her lips made a tight, cleft line. _"That sounds... **incredibly** **specific** , spooks."_ She plainly told him. _"I take it that was meant t' **fuck** you over?"_

_"You'd be taken **correctly**."_ He said this with a nod. _"Combine that with my curse, an' it makes fer one **hell** of an obstacle course."_

That sounded _incredibly_ shitty to her. _Shitty_ and _overly_ _complicated_. So, not only was he _trapped_ in an _artsy_ _little_ _mirror_ , bound by _magic_ only the _dead_ could see, but _saying_ _his_ _name_ was the _only_ way to let him out. And it _wasn't even_ **_permanent_**. Talk about _cruel_ _and unusual_ _punishment_. She didn't know what _kind_ of ghost he was, so she couldn't say for certain whether he _deserved_ it or not, but it seemed like a whole _lot_ of _work_ for _one_ _goofy_ _ghost_. She _had_ to feel bad for the guy.

 _"But enough about **THAT**!"_ He went on to say. He then clapped his hands together with a smile of the same brightness as before. _"Just 'cause you can't **see** it, don't mean you can't **interact** with it!"_

_"Though I **probably** could'a brought it up **sooner** \- which is **ENTIRELY** my fault, don't start feelin' bad - but I was **also** caught up in th' whole **'finally havin' a roommate'** thing that I just plain **forgot**. Whoops~!"_

_"Just go ahead an' bring that **pie** on up here, an' I'll **show** ya!"_

Well, she couldn't argue with _that_. She wasn't sure _how_ he was going to _show_ her she could interact with the mirror, but she didn't want him to _miss_ _out_ on the _pie_ she'd made for him, either. So she'd _have_ to trust him on this one. That, and the pie _should_ still be hot enough to eat, but warm enough to _pick_ _up_ by the plate now, so the _sooner_ she got it up there, the _better_.

And so she skipped on back down the stairs to fetch it! Thankfully when she got back into the kitchen, the pie _was_ , in fact, cool enough to carry. If he hadn't _reminded_ her, she would've gotten caught up in _feeling_ bad, and the pie _probably_ would've gotten _cold_.

She'd have to thank him for that _later_. But she was _hungry_ , and _more_ than _that_ , she was _curious_. So she focused on grabbing the _pie_ , grabbing some _knives_ and _forks_ , and heading back upstairs.

As she came back into the room, Beetlejuice watched her walk over with the pie with about the same air of _distraction_ as before. That might've caused her to walk over with a bit more _pep_ in her step.

_"That is one **stuffed** pie..."_ he mused dreamily. _"Pork an' apple, right?"_

She nodded. Set the pie plate down on the large platter beside them. _"That's right! Pork an' apple! Specifically, **Phandalin's Fortune**!*"_

_"Ohhhh, I don't think I've tried those before!"_ Beetlejuice cooed. _"Or, 't least, not 's far 's I can **remember**. What're they like?"_

As he said that, she started setting the forks and knives on their respective sides. It had been too many years since she'd been on an orchard tour, but she still remembered enough about them to describe it. _"Sweet an' spicy!"_ she told him. She wasn't a professional, so her description was probably subpar. _"It's like a **pop** 'f **flavor** in your mouth when ya bite int' one! Starts out real **crispy** , then **melts** in your mouth! An' th' **BEST** Fortunes have a **nutmeg** kinda flavor on top, from th' **rich** **soil** they're grown in!"_

As she described this, she didn't pay much attention to his reaction, at first. But when she looked back, she was surprised to find him leaning into his hands as she talked, and forward, toward the mirror's face. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, not only did he look like he was paying attention, but he was _actively_ _listening_. How nice!

_"Aw, normally I **hate** sweet,"_ he started to tell her, with a wave of one of his hands and a bit of a grimace at the very word, _"but I don't think I've ever had a **spicy** apple before! I'd be willin' t' give it a shot! "_

_"If it ends up tasting like **candy** , though, I'll **gag**..."_

Eugh, that thought nearly made _her_ gag, too. _"Ew, **no**! I wouldn't **buy** 'em if they tasted like **that**! An' I **CERTAINLY** wouldn't bake 'em into my pies! **Gross**!"_

Beetlejuice seemed to find _her_ disgust funnier than his _own_ , seeing as it ended up making him _laugh_. Was it the _face_ she was making? She couldn't tell, seeing as _he_ was taking her _reflection's_ place. _That_ was probably it. Her grossed out faces were _always_ funny to others, if the reactions at the _bar_ were any indicators. She didn't mind. At least he wasn't making _fun_ of it yet.

_"... Oh, right! Th' **mirror**!"_ He said. Beetlejuice then snapped his fingers and held out his hand. _"If y'don't mind handin' me my **fork** , I can **show** ya what th' **deal** is!"_

Six was just about to pull her paw away from his fork and knife when he said that. Right, she just about forgot he was going to _"show"_ her whatever was up with his mirror. She still wasn't _completely_ sure about it. After all, that time her last roommate wanted to _"show"_ her something about his prison, he _yanked_ her in for _fun_ , then _left_ her there while he went out and _partied_. _Not_ cool.

Noticing her hesitation, her spirited roommate wiggled his fingers a little.

_" **C'mon** , Six, it's just a **fork**! What'm I gonna **do** with it, **stab** ya?"_

She gave him a stern look. Which _actually_ backed him down from the joke, much to _her_ surprise. That didn't _usually_ work.

_"Well, I mean - I **won't!** "_ He then sputtered. _"I - you **get** what I mean! I'm not gonna **do** anything to ya, **promise**!"_

_" **Promise?** "_

_"Cross my heart an' hope t' **die** \- uh, **again**!"_ And as he said that, he did in fact cross his finger over his chest where his heart was, making a little treasure map _"X"_ float there, for a minute. It disappeared after his hand fell. _"I wanna **eat** , c'mon! Just **trust** me!"_

... She didn't really have a _choice_ , did she? She wanted to make him _breakfast_ , after all. And if he said he _could_ eat it, she had to see _how_. So she picked up the fork. She looked it over. A lovely thing made from fine brass, poison ivy engraved on the handle.

When she looked back up to Beetlejuice, he was still holding his hand out. Smiling. Waiting. Not very _patiently_ , but the _effort_ was clearly there. She looked back to the fork. To him.

Then, slowly, surely, she lifted the fork up to the mirror's face. This was going to make her look _pretty_ _stupid_ if it turned out he was _lying_ , and it really _was_ just a solid _sheet_ of glass. So she couldn't really help hesitating.

But she wasn't a _scaredy-cat._ No, that'd be just _silly_! It was _just_ a fork! If she scratched the glass, she _scratched_ it! That'd just be _his_ problem, not hers. She pushed the fork _forward_ , and - 

\- it didn't stop. Beetlejuice quickly reached forward to grab it, and he just... **_could_**. Her paw felt _something_ as it passed through, but she couldn't really describe _what_. It felt like she stuck it through a layer of _slime_ , then out to the other side. If the slime didn't have a _temperature_ , and if it didn't _stick_ to her _fur_. The air on the _other_ side didn't have a temperature either.

Beetlejuice's _hand_ , however, _definitely_ had one. The ghost's hand was _cold_ and _clammy_ , for the brief moment she felt it as he took the fork away. It also felt _pretty_ _solid_. Like an _actual_ hand. _Huh_. Didn't have that with ghosts before. _That_ was different. And not in the _bad_ way.

_" **There**!"_ He triumphantly said, holding the fork like a trophy. _"See? I can eat things **just** **fine**! Folks just gotta push it **through** first!"_

As she pulled her paw back out, she looked it over. Nothing _stuck_ as she removed it from the mirror, so, there was nothing to _clean_ _up_ or _inspect_. That just made her more _curious_ about it, but it was _way_ too soon to be wondering what was on the other side of a _ghost's mirror_. Like, **_C'MON_**.

_"Yeah, I... guess so! Huh!"_ Even _sniffing_ her paw did nothing for it. Except - no, _wait_. It _did_ , actually. The delicious pie nearby was _clouding_ the air with its _glorious_ smell, but there _was_ another smell that lingered on her paw now. There wasn't enough of it to _really_ identify it, but she knew there was an underlying layer of _"pond scum"_ to it. She grew up on a _farm_. She _knew_ pond scum.

It wasn't like she was going to _ask_ about it, of course. That was _impolite_ to ask about at _mealtime_. It was one thing for _people_ to reek, but for _ghosts_ , it wasn't like _they_ had any hygiene to keep up. So, back to the task at paw, she picked up her pie-cutting knife.

 _"Anyway, on to th' **best** part 'f th' meal..."_ Six started to tell him, as she slowly dug her knife into the pie. That _"best part"_ being the cutting and the _cross-section_ of it, obviously. The way the crust _crunched_ under her knife told her that, aside from the burned sections near the back, the crust was almost _perfectly_ cooked. _Almost_ ; it was _just_ a _little_ over. Yet, it was close _enough_ to satisfy the ears. Especially the smooth sound of a knife through hot pork and baked apples.

But then came the cross-section itself. As she carefully lifted the first slice onto his plate, she was careful to linger on that. The pie didn't stand up _straight_ , but the contents of it were _slow_ to seep out. Layers of steaming pork _glistened_ in the white light the skies cast outside, overtop the layers of browned apples, all _bathed_ in a mixture of pork fat and butter. 

The both of them ended up just _staring_ at it. It was such a _lovely_ sight on such a cold morning. The _shimmer_ of the _filling_. The steam _rising_ from inside and out. The _color_. The _smell_. She didn't know if _he_ was drooling, but _she_ certainly was. She just tried to keep it _contained_. Tried and _failed_. Her drool got into her _fur_. Thankfully not into the _pie_.

Beetlejuice was drooling too, of _course_. Didn't notice that until she looked over for his reaction. But he didn't even _remotely_ try to contain it. She wasn't _used_ to that kind of reaction to her cooking, honestly. What, with his eyes wide like _dinner plates_ , his hands crossed over his fork, and his face pressed up against the glass. His nose nearly got _crushed_ by the weight of it. Not that _he_ seemed to mind.

_"I have... **never** wanted something **SO** badly..."_ He muttered, just _barely_ loud enough for her to hear. So she did him a favor, set his knife on the plate next to the slice of pie, then lifted the plate through the mirror. Once again there was the brush of hands to paws, cold and clammy against warm and fluffy, but this passed by even _more_ quickly than the fork did before. He was _so_ impatient for it, he didn't even wait until she'd cut herself a slice. He just took his first bite as her paw was coming back out.

She waited to see his reaction before she got her own. As he shoveled the first mouthful of Cheshire Pork Pie into his mouth, it curled up into probably the _dreamiest_ smile he could've gotten. He just _melted_ at the taste. _Quite literally_ , as she watched his body turn from a _solid_ , to an _ooze_ , to a _liquid_ , as it fell out of the mirror's sight. This made the _plate_ fall, but as she didn't hear anything hit the _floor_ , she assumed he caught it.

_"Sho good...~"_ Beetlejuice said from his presumed position on the floor.

Pleased as punch, Six then cut herself a piece for her own plate. She was careful not to cut a larger piece than his, even though they were likely going to be the only ones eating the pie. It was just to be _polite_. For _now_. And as _soon_ as she took that first bite, she _had_ to agree. It was _so, **so**_ good. It was a _very_ easy meal to get a _purr_ going.

And yet, despite the courtesy given, _neither_ of them were _clean eaters._ Pies were often a messy deal with Tabaxi to begin with, so for her to get juices into the long fur below her mouth and chin was a _given_. She'd just have to _wash_ _it out_ later. No avoiding _that_. But Beetlejuice was _somehow **messier**_. As he was still on the floor, she couldn't _see_ how messily he was _devouring_ his meal - but she could _hear_ it. He honestly sounded like a _pig_ at an _all-you-can-eat offal buffet_. Which was the _best_ thing to hear when it came to _her_ cooking. Not just for it being _well-received_ , but the fact that if she _could_ see him, he was being _just_ as messy as _she_ was. Because _she_ wasn't being quiet about _her_ eating, either.

It was _nice_ to cut loose like that. No human courtesies. No _stuffy doublet_ to avoid spilling on. No people to _please_. No _staring_. Just her and her roommate having breakfast _uncriticized_. It was _very_ _nice_ indeed.

As they ate, she couldn't help _thinking_ about certain things. There were _some_ things that Beetlejuice brought up last night that had her _curious_ , if not _gently concerned_. About the _curse_. About the _magic_ over his mirror. How _eager_ Fruna was to get rid of him. These things took _priority_ to her curious nature over the _other_ things she wanted to bring up, like the _rules_ for the house and his _otherworldly nature._

So, as she gulped down another mouthful, she started to ask him, _"Hey, Beetlejuice..."_

This got him to perk up from his position on the floor. His mouth and chin were absolutely _drenched_ as he looked back her way. _"Yeah?"_

_"You said you were **cursed** , right?"_

He nodded, then shoveled in another mouthful of pie.

_"You mind **tellin** ' me about it?"_

He paused. Then he had something of a _face journey_ , as he seemed to debate whether to swallow his food and _tell_ her or to just continue stuffing his face, his eyes looking around the room, his mouth _pouting_ this way and that, a piece of chewed pork _poking_ _out_ at one point...

 _"... Ehhh, yeah, shure!"_ He answered her. He then swallowed down the big mouthful he had, then _stabbed_ his fork into the pie and snapped his newly available fingers. This made a blackboard appear. Neat!

Another snap conjured some brightly colored _chalk_ , which he used to to write out _"CURSES 101"_ on the board in _big, clumsy letters._ He then erased that to continue drawing as he spoke.

 _"Alright, so, it **sounds** simple enough, at **first**."_ He started. He drew a rough trapezoid and some squiggly lines for his mirror, and a... very _abstract_ looking _stick figure_ for himself. Six couldn't tell if it had _hair_ or a _big furry cape_ on it, and the face was all _sorts_ of mixed up. The only way she knew he was trying to draw himself was because of the _"mirror"_ shape he made. _"One 'f those **'say my name'** curses, I assume you know **that** one..."_

Which she did. He brought it up yesterday. _"Say the name **three times** , right?"_

As she said that, the stick figure gave her what she _assumed_ was a thumbs up. Or a middle finger. _Couldn't really tell._

_"Correct!"_ came the answer. He then got to work on the _second_ stick figure, which didn't look the _clearest_ at first. The figure's limbs were uneven lengths, arms akimbo, he was drawing _tons_ of _messy zig-zag lines_ around it, and it had a _ball_ or two on the - _ohhhh_ , it was _her!_ It _took_ a second! She thought he was just drawing some _random monster_ for the other figure, but it was _her!_ How flattering! Not sure what the _circles_ up _top_ were for, but _very nice!_

The second figure then chanted some scribbly lines once - _twice_ \- **_three_ **times, and the squiggly lines slithered around the mirror, before _Beetlestick_ popped out of it with a _burst_ of _spooky confetti._ Then he did a happy little dance, as did _Six Sticks._

_"Say my name **three** times, an' I can finally **leave** this hotbox!"_ he explained as it happened. _"'f course, I can't say it **myself** \- "_

\- Which his stick figure tried to do, but a chalky X appeared on his mouth for whatever reason - 

_" - but someone **else** sure can! An' once they do, I'm **loose**!"_

The X disappeared as quickly as it came. Once it did, Beetlestick patted his face once or twice, then looked at Six Sticks and - ... dipped her into a _big_ kiss. Which Beetlejuice _didn't notice at first._

But _Six Bats_ sure did. She settled her chin into one hand with a sly smile his way. And he _still_ didn't notice, as he continued.

_"Sadly, though, it ain't **permanent**. Cause if th' **person** who **freed** me says my name three times **again** , then... **poof**!"_

He then snapped his fingers again, making the two stick figures disappear. She got the feeling it was _supposed_ to just be Beetlestick that disappeared, but as he was still making out with Six Sticks, the two of them ended up warped back inside of their shitty chalk mirror together. Which _they_ didn't even notice.

 _"Back in th' **box** I **go**!"_ Beetlejuice gave a dramatic sigh there, but she couldn't tell if it was for theatrics or genuinely depressed. _"Talk about a killjoy, right?"_

_"Oh, **absolutely**..."_ She started to say. She couldn't keep the clueless act up, though. Not with that grin on her face. _"Except when you drag **me** in, huh?"_

He paused at that. Again that look of cute confusion crossed him, as she nodded in the direction of the chalkboard. Where he finally turned around, _looked_ , and _saw_ the two stick figures making out in his chalk mirror.

_"Wh - Oh, **WHOOPS** \- "_

Cue him _quickly_ tossing the chalk aside to grab an eraser and _clap_ it over the stick drawing. Some _furious scrubbing_ later, the evidence was _gone_. Though he still kept up the _humorous_ _smile_ from before, there was some _new color_ to his cheeks all of a sudden. _"Hah! Wonder what got int' **THOSE** two! Ahuhuhuhuhuh - huh - ... huh... "_

She didn't let her expression change. She didn't really _want_ to. Because the _longer_ she _smiled_ at him in that _smug_ way she was doing, the _brighter_ the _color_ in his face got. Which was just _delicious_. So she could _milk_ it a little. As a _treat_. But not _forever_ , of course. Eventually Six said, _"So, there's no way t' **permanently** break it, then?"_

_"I mean, t-there probably **is** ,"_ Beetlejuice replied, though he didn't sound so sure, _"I just haven't **found** it yet. An' nobody I've **asked** fer help has found it, either. Most didn't **WANNA** find it. So I'm just stuck dealin' with it **as-is.** "_

_"Why not?"_

_"... Whaddya mean **why not**?"_

_"Why hasn't anyone **wanted** t' help you?"_ Six clarified, tapping her cheek with the clean end of her fork.

That got another shrug. _"I dunno. They hated **fun**? Didn't wanna **bail** their **entertainment** out?"_

... Yeah, that checked out. She wouldn't be surprised if folks kept him locked up on the promise of freedom for _decades_ at a time, just so they could have the _entertainment_. Granted, she _still_ didn't know how _trustworthy_ he was to begin with, or if he _did_ anything in the past to - oh, _she should ask!_

_"Okay, so, if ya can't tell me **that** ,"_ she then asked, _"can ya tell me **why** you were cursed?"_

_" **Nope**!"_ he lied. _"Don't know **that** , either!"_

Sadly for her, she didn't see _through_ it. She'd asked the same question _so_ many times, some ghosts _genuinely_ _forgot_ why they were locked away. It made _sense_. If he didn't _know_ why folks didn't _want_ to help him, it made _sense_ that he wouldn't know why he was _cursed_ , either. It just made things more _difficult_ for her to _figure out_ was all. 

But when he answered her, he finally decided to sit upright and eat at the reflected dresser, instead of on the floor. With him doing that, she chose to watch him _eat_ for a bit, instead of pursuing the topic further. For all how _crooked_ and _rotten_ his teeth were, he could tear through the pie _pretty easily._ It was actually _impressive_ how _thoroughly_ he was _destroying_ the poor thing. The filling _spilled_ out of the sides and out of his mouth with the big bites he took, but he managed to catch everything before it could fall out of reach, and it just got drawn back in.

Yet, she saw nothing _else_ out of the ordinary. No _second_ or _third_ rows of teeth. No _extra_ _mouths_. There was _nothing_ insidious about the way he ate, it was just _messy_. She could imagine him tearing into a _county faire pie-eating contest_ a lot more than she could imagine him tearing into someone _else_. He really didn't seem _dangerous_.

So _why_ would anyone _lock him away?_ It had to be something _secret_ , right? Something _shitty_? It _had_ to be! _Nobody_ in the _right_ _mind_ would just lock an _innocent ghost_ in a _mirror_ just for _shits and giggles!_ Maybe if she got more into who he _was_ , she'd get more of an idea...

 _"Well, do you remember what y' **did** before bein' trapped in there, then?"_ She then asked him. 

To which he rolled his eyes and told her, _"Well, **duh**! 'f **course** I do! I caused all **kindsa** trouble before I got locked up!"_

Ah, _now_ she was _getting somewhere!_ Her ears perked up his way. Something _cruel?_ Something _horrible?_

 _"I was th' **nastiest** ghost in **all** th' **Neitherworld**!"_ He began to explain. The _Neitherworld_ didn't ring any bells for her. " _Nastiest ghost"_ , however, could've meant _**so** many_ things. _"My tricks were th' **tops**! From **impersonatin** ' a guy's **mimic** an' eatin' his **stolen stuff,** t' **possessin** ' a **girl** an' **ruinin** ' her chances in **theater** by turnin' her into a big ol' **pile a' bile** , t' fillin' my **newlywed** **neighbor's** weddin' cake with **corn snakes** an' **cockroaches** \- I did it **all**! I was the **talk** 'f th' **town**! An' that's not even' **goin** ' into that time when I... "_

The more deeds he _listed_ , the less _dangerous_ he _sounded._ And the less _sense_ it made. Sure, he listed plenty of _smaller crimes,_ but the _majority_ of the things he listed were just... _pranks_. Not that she didn't find every prank he mentioned absolutely _hilarious_ , because she _did!_ That cake incident sounded _absolutely **grotesque**_ , and she _wished_ she could've seen it. She _had_ to stifle a laugh! But that was just _it!_ She could really only _laugh_ at what he did! There was no _terror_ , no _fear_ , no _sinister_ undertones - _nothing!_ It honestly just sounded like he _lounged_ _around_ and _pulled_ _pranks_ on his _neighbors_ for a living!

And if that was the case, then... if all he ever did was _prank_ and _con_ his neighbors in this _"Neitherworld"_ \- whatever _that_ was - then why would anyone lock him away to _begin_ with? She'd gotten the impression that when _ghosts_ were _trapped_ in items, it was with _good reason._ At least, the ones she'd met _before_ were. But not _here_. Unless he pulled off a _seriously_ big, _seriously_ harmful prank, then it sounded like they just locked him away because they didn't _like_ him. And that _couldn't_ be it! That was just... just _so_...

... That was just _so **cruel.**_

Instead of feeling _smug_ , or _scared_ , or even _entertained_ , she just felt _bad_ for Beetlejuice. Not that she didn't _already_ sympathize with him for having been locked in a _mirror_ , stuck dealing with _Fruna_ for _Lord knows how long._ But this was on a _whole other level._ There was no joke to make about _that_ kind of fate. She couldn't smile at the thought of being _shut away_ by her neighbors just for pulling _one too many pranks._ In fact, her folks at home used to _love_ the _trouble-making types._ They would've pranked him right _back!_ Instead, he was here, _trapped_ inside of a magical mirror _specifically_ made _just_ to fuck him over. 

It must have been too obvious in her _face_ , because he stopped talking before long. His expression when he saw her wasn't clear. It still seemed as cocky and upbeat, but if there was any part of him that felt _bad_ about the whole situation, he hid it _very well_. Better than she could, because _she_ sure couldn't _see_ it there. And she could normally see a _lot_. Was he _really_ so okay with this?

_"Uh... Six? **Six bats?** "_ He started to say. He waved his fork in front of her. _"You good? What, did I **say** somethin' that stepped on yer **tail** , or **what**?"_

She couldn't hide it _nearly_ as well as he could. Even though she shook her head and tried to smile. It must not have _looked_ as good. _"Oh, yeah, I'm fine! You didn't say anything wrong, spooks, don't worry!"_

He frowned. _"Sure doesn't **look** like it, kitty..."_

It really _didn't._ It wasn't long before her ears tucked down. There really wasn't any _lying_ about it, was there? _"... Well, I... I dunno, bugs,"_ Six said, again mistakenly slipping the better nickname, _" it just... it sounds **fun**! Really, it **does**! It just **doesn't** sound like th' kinda lifestyle folks... **lock you away** for. **Y'know**?"_

_"I mean, c'mon! Pretendin' t' be a guy's **mimic** so you can take his **stuff**? Fillin' a wedding cake with **snakes** an' **roaches** while nobody's lookin'? That's **golden**! That's **gross**! That's **hilarious**! "_

She was completely oblivious to how much that _brightened_ Beetlejuice up. The more she showed she _liked_ it, the _bigger_ his smile grew, the _brighter_ his eyes gleamed. And she didn't even _notice_.

_"It's just... it doesn't sound **mirror** - **worthy**. That's all."_

So she scooped the last of her pie into her mouth. She chewed in relative silence, while Beetlejuice looked on.

Scooping up his plate, he settled up against the mirror's face. It was about as _close_ to her as he could get. _"Well... **yeah** ,"_ he started to say, _"I didn't say it **was**. Honestly, **whatever** way I **spin** it..."_

As he said that, his head slowly started to rotate. But before it could start spinning, he stopped it. Now wasn't the time. _"...it's still **unfair** , an' I still **hate** it. But if I just think about how much I **hate** it, then I can't really enjoy **anythin** ' I do, now **can** I?"_

_"I'm here **now**. An' compared t' **most** , you **already** seem like fun, so why **focus** on it?"_

He already finished his pie, so when she glanced up to him, pleasantly surprised, he just held his plate up to the mirror. _"Seconds?"_

Six hesitated. But her smile came back before too long. _"...Sure, one sec!"_

As she then took his plate and cut him his second piece, she warned him, _"Usually two is enough t' fill me up, so I wanna say this is... **probably** yer **last** piece 'ntil lunch?"_

_"Awww, really?"_ He whined. Yeah, she usually whined about it, too, buddy. _"But it's **delicious**! C'mon!"_

 _"I know, but I don't wanna make **two** pies in **one** day, dude."_ Otherwise, she'd eat all her own food. And in the middle of a _snowstorm_ , that _wasn't_ smart. _"I know it's **good** , but ya gotta save room fer **later**. Havin' too much will make ya **sick**."_

 _"Implyin' I can **have** 'too much.' But **alright**... "_ Beetlejuice replied. He took back the plate quickly when she handed it through -- yet, he stopped himself before he actually dug into it. He watched as she cut herself a second piece, then asked, _"Now what d' **YOU** do fer a livin', kitty?"_

_Oh?_ He was curious about it? That was nice. Most ghosts didn't take an immediate interest in _her_ line of work. But she _did_ ask about _his_ , so, it was only fair. Without missing a beat, she told him, _"Oh, I just rob people fer a livin'."_

As she dropped her second slice onto her plate, it went quiet. She actually went more _slowly_ into the pie with the fork because of it. She wasn't _expecting_ quiet.

Of course, she wasn't _expecting_ him to _burst_ _into **laughter**_ , either. It was actually _so_ sudden and _so_ loud it scared her into _fluffing_ _up_. She looked up, and there he was. Beetlejuice was hugging his plate to himself with one hand, while the other tried - and _failed_ \- to cover his mouth from laughing. It moved to his forehead before long, as he just rocked back from the sheer _force_ of laughter that apparently left him.

It was _contagious_. Forgetting her earlier anxiety, she felt a smile coming on, as she asked him in a playfully indignant tone of voice, _"Eyyy! **What's** so **funny** , huh, **beetle-boy?** "_

Beetlejuice held up a finger to tell her _hey, give me a second,_ while he tried to re-compose himself. _Not that he hadn't **de-composed** enough as it was._ Trying to stifle his laughter behind his hand did nothing earlier, so he tried stuffing his face with some of the pie instead. This didn't _stop_ his laughter, but it shut his mouth for long enough for him to at least _try_. 

Once he had a moment of clarity, and the bite he'd taken had gone down, he told her between laughs, _"Oh, don't **act** like you **don't know!** Ahuhuh, h-here **you** are, askin' me all about **MY** work, an' - an' feelin' bad fe-he-he-r **me**! An' - An' you're all like -"_

He then took about as deep of a breath as he could, and in an expert performance, he perfectly imitated Six's voice. _"'Awwww, you don't **sound** like you b- **belong** in there, bugs! Who gets locked up fer pullin' **pranks**?'"_

 _"An' you just - y-you just - "_ Another little laugh followed it, before he could finally finish the statement that got him going. _" - you just drop th' fact yOU **ROB PEOPLE** \- "_

And he was lost in the laughter again. But now she _understood_. Yeah, that was _pretty_ _ironic_ of her, wasn't it? _Yeah!_ No _wonder_ he was laughing his ass off! She ended up laughing at it too, _just_ as loudly, even if she didn't think _her_ laugh was _quite_ as nice as his. She just had to make sure not to laugh _too_ hard, otherwise she'd end up _hacking a hairball._ And while that would be _infinitely_ _funnier_ , that would get all over her _nice_ , _homemade_ _pie_ , which would be _infinitely_ ** _less_ **_funny_.

Eventually, Six was the first one to stop laughing. Thankfully it didn't leave her throat feeling too hoarse. But a sip of tea was still appreciated. _"But - yeah! Ironic as it is, that's kinda what I do!"_ Six went on to say. _"Or 't least, what I've done these past... **sixteen** 'r **seventeen** years, I lose count..."_

_"Sometimes all it takes is some **nicely combed fur** an' a **smile** , but most 'f th' time, I make myself a lovely **costume** , I work int' someone's **good** **graces** \-- an' when I get hooked into their **inheritance** money, or whatever **nice** **amount** 'f it I can get my **paws** on, I make like a **bandit**!"_

_" **HA** \- !"_

That honk of a laugh was _great!_ She was _glad_ that pun landed! But it took a little longer for Beetlejuice to _stop_ as a result. So when he finally _replied_ , he was _still_ a little giggly. _"I'm guessin' that's what **'Sir Roland Deloria'** is? Some **impersonation**?"_

The Chondathan accent he put on just for that bit got another giggle out of her. _"Weeeeeell, **yes** an' **no**! Sir Roland doesn't **actually** exist - I **made him up!** But I **play** him like he **does** exist, an' I'm just doin' a really **good** impersonation 'f him!"_

_"Ohohohhh, a **double** -twist! So investigators get all **tangled** up!"_ As he said that, he briefly wove his body into the shape of a length of rope, which tied itself into knots. _" **Real** clever!"_

_"Usually, I impersonate someone else, or I make up an' entirely new person,"_ Six continued, _"but Sir Roland was th' result of me thinkin', ' **Hey! I've been caught too many times! Why not try both?'** "_

She scooped more pork into her mouth with a smirk. _"Seems t' be workin' **wonders** , these past few years!"_

Beetlejuice turned back into his normal self at that. _"So, you ain't been here long, then?"_ He asked.

_"Nope! Not long at all!"_ She shook her head. Then she let herself slouch, but not too much. _"Though it definitely feels like it. I swear, I'm gettin' **so** tired 'f **playin** ' this guy!"_

_" **Why** , cause he's too much of a **jerk** , or somethin'?"_

_"No, cause he's too **nice**! Too much of a **sweetheart** , **noddin** ' an' **smilin** ' along with those **high** an' **mighty** motherfuckers up **top**... "_

Beetlejuice gagged at the word _"sweet."_ At the moment, Six _shared_ the sentiment, holding up her fork in a _menacing_ _fist_ as she went on. _"There are times I wanna **SERIOUSLY** deck someone - "_ she said, as she swung her fork at the air. The bit of pie on it _actually_ flew off _into_ the mirror, but Beetlejuice _caught_ it in his mouth before it _landed_ anywhere.

_"But I can't! Cause I'm -"_ She put on her Sir Roland voice for the bit. _"- **Sir Roland Deloria!** And Sir Roland doesn't start fights with racist locals!"_

_"Though he really should..."_ Six finished in her _own_ voice, with something of a _hiss_.

Even though it was making her money, it was _miserable_ keeping the act up. It was _one_ thing to infiltrate a family as a _servant_ , or as some _distant relative,_ or a _family friend_. At least with _those_ kinds of acts, she didn't have to go _too_ _far_ out of her _comfort_ zone. But it was a _whole_ _other_ _jar of olives_ to _hide_ _herself_ _entirely_ and _kiss_ _ass_ all day long. That shit was _exhausting_.

_"Chin up, pussycat! You'll get t' break character eventually!"_ Beetlejuice reassured her. Which _was_ true. It was only _one_ con. And it was only going to last until she had enough money to comfortably _move on._ Which _he_ seemed to _understand_ , judging by his tone of voice. _"It's just **one** **character!** Once yer done, you can just make yer **next** one **better** , right?"_

_"Right! Right..."_ She smiled and nodded. Of course, she didn't _know_ what _kind_ of character her next alias was going to be, or where she'd even go _next_ \- she _usually_ had that _figured_ _out_ by that point - but she didn't say that part out _loud_. She couldn't give away her _uncertainty_. Not at the _breakfast_ _table_. Or, uh, _breakfast **dresser**_.

Nonetheless, he noticed. He was chewing on some juicy apple bits when he did, which stopped. His expression didn't noticeably change as he looked at her. But maybe it didn't need to, as he leaned in and quietly told her, _"Hey, if you can't think of it **now**... you'll figure it out **later**. Y'got **plenty** 'a time!"_

 _"An' plenty'a **help** , too!"_ He planted his hand over his chest with a smile that tried to be cool. _"I just so happen t' be an **expert** in th' art 'f **blendin** ' **in**."_

Six smiled back at him as she, too, leaned in. _"Really, spooks?"_ She asked him playfully. _"You? **Blend in?** With **those** stripes?"_

_"Hey, you **know** it's **stylish**!"_

_" **Stylish** , yeah. **Inconspicuous?** Nah."_

At that, he smirked. Then disappeared in a swarm of bats, flies, and eyes, _oh my_. She just blinked, and there he was. Or there _she_ was, rather. One moment, Six was talking to _Beetlejuice_. The next, she was talking to _herself_ , a near-perfect reflection in the mirror.

Except her reflection was posing _charmingly_ in the mirror, one paw on her _chin_ , the other on the _dresser_. She gave Six a _wink_ , which Six giggled at.

 _"Wow, I can actually **recognize** myself in th' **mirror** fer once!"_ Six joked toward herself.

But her doppleganger wasn't having it. No _self-deprecation_ in _this_ house, no ma'am. _"I guess it **would** be difficult recognizing someone so **good-lookin'** , huh?"_

Bless her heart, she _actually_ recognized that as a _flirt_ instead of an _insult_. So she responded, _"Gee, I dunno, I thought th' **cool ghoul** I saw earlier looked **pretty** **good** , myself..."_

Rather than openly indulge the flirt, her reflection got a thoughtful look, then pawed at those stolen _pyromancer_ _robes_ she was wearing. She scratched her chin with long claws, which were _red_ like Beetlejuice's _fingertips_ instead of _black_ like Six's _real claws_. She thought on it, then nodded. _"Y'might have a **point** ,"_ she started to say, _"Just a second -"_

She then snapped her fingers, and her robes disappeared in the same kind of swarm. Only to be replaced by the ghost's traditional suit. And Six had to admit, she looked _pretty damn good_ in it, even if Beetlejuice conjured it over his disguise a little too _tightly_. Is _that_ how he thought she'd fit in it? That it'd be too _small_ for her? Just because he wasn't as _tall_ as her? _Clearly_ he underestimated how much _meat_ she had under that _forest of fur._

Her reflection looked herself over in her new duds, then purred, satisfied. _"Y'know, **Sixie** , I think yer **onto** somethin'. You wear this **almost** better than **I** do!"_

Six thought so, too. But she didn't say that out loud, of course. It was a _pretty_ picture he painted. And she'd been painted pretty pictures _before_. She couldn't let her guard down _too_ _soon_ , as much as she _wanted_ to. So, instead, she asked her, _"Hey, 'Sixie.' You wanna know what **I** think?"_

_"Yeah?"_

_"I think yer **pie** is gettin' cold."_

_" **What?!** Oh, no it **ain't** \- "_ It was actually _comical_ how easily that worked, even _moreso_ how the ghost's Six-voice _cracked_ back into his _normal_ one. Beetlejuice popped back into his original shape before digging back into his plate. It hadn't _actually_ gone cold, of course. But it distracted him enough. Six wanted to eat, and if Beetlejuice wasn't stuffing his face, she was afraid he'd ask too many questions, which would not only distract them _both_ from the meal she made, but probably _kill_ her _appetite_ , too.

She giggled to herself. A _subtle_ pun, but a nice one. One he didn't even get to hear. And yet, somehow, she figured he _probably_ wouldn't mind if she did. _Most_ ghosts she hosted were fairly _sensitive_ to their situation, so they didn't really appreciate her making _puns_ or _quips_ at their expense. But Beetlejuice seemed like the kind of guy to enjoy that. _Seemed._ She'd have to wait and see.

So they ate. A pleasant communion compared to the cold loneliness outside, and one she hadn't been able to enjoy in a _long_ time. So _warm_ it was, so _welcome_ a change, that she even started to _purr_ while she ate. Very, very _loudly_ , compared to the gentle _pitter-patter_ of the rain outside. If Beetlejuice noticed - which he _did_ \- and if he was staring - which he _was_ \- then she didn't notice a thing.

The purring and the rain were all the sound they had, until he spoke up. _"Oh, right!"_ He started to say mid-chew. _"That reminds me -- I heard a whole **buncha** noise outside th' room earlier! What was **that** all about?"_

Six Bats paused, then smiled, and took another bite. _"Oh, **that.** I fell down th' **stairs** when I woke up this mornin'."_

Upon saying that, she heard a little noise. Something like a cork being shoved back into a foaming champagne bottle. When she looked back up, the ghost was covering his mouth. To prevent himself from _laughing?_ To prevent the _food_ from falling out? _Both?_ Probably _both._

 _" **Pfft** \- An' how did **that** go?"_ He tried to ask. He did a _fairly_ good job of sounding sympathetic, however, the _snickering_ he was trying to stifle gave away his honest feeling on the matter. _"Didja land on yer **feet** , 'r what?"_

_"Actually, **yeah** , I **did!** I landed on th' stairs **just** right that I did **pawsprings** all th' way down! Fun bit 'f exercise, that."_

Upon hearing that, the snickering came to a delightful stop, as Beetlejuice processed the image in his mind. And as the image finally processed, he groaned, _loudly_ , and with a _wonderful_ kind of disappointment. _"Awww, **seriously?** An' I didn't even get t' **see** it?!"_

_"Nope~"_

A louder groan followed, which was _exactly_ the kind of reaction Six was hoping for anyway. She ate that up with about the same delight as she ate the pie, now purring even more loudly than before. _"I'm sure you'll catch it **next** time, hon."_

 _"Oh, I **will**!"_ He told her with a determined tone of voice. _"Even if it means I gotta trip ya **myself** , I'm **gonna** see that eventually!"_

To which she merely told him, _"Once yer **months** are up, you're invited t' **try**."_

She then dove back into her meal. And after enough grousing, he did the same. It was only a matter of time. He'd _get_ the chance. _Eventually_.

And she'd be looking forward to it.

**Author's Note:**

> Wow! Turns out when a lot of overwhelming things happen in the span of a month, it saps your battery like nothing ever should! This was supposed to be finished before the end of last month, as I was hoping to post these monthly, but BOY did this last month spiral out of control! Hoo boy!
> 
> Hopefully I have a better handle on this one! Here's something nice and mundane, before we start getting into the... MEAT of things.
> 
> Haha, awh, I miss making puns for my D&D party...
> 
> Also, the music i listened to while writing this one would be the "This is Studio Ghibli" Spotify playlist, and my personal Six Bats and Beetlejuice writing playlist... but shhh, that one isn't ready to be revealed yet! 
> 
> *Phandalin's Fortune is based on the Grimes Golden apple. It's an heirloom apple!


End file.
